131. THE MILKMAID. A milkmaid, who poised a full pail on her head, Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said : "Let's see-I should think that this milk will procure, One hundred good eggs, or fourscore, to be sure. "Well then-stop-a-bit-it must not be forgotten, Some of these may be broken, and some may be rotten; But if twenty for accident should be detach'd, It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to be hatch'd. "Well, sixty sound eggs-no, sound chickens, I mean; Of these some may die-we'll suppose seventeen, Seventeen! not so many-say ten at the most, Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast. "But then, there's their barley, how much will they need? Why, they take but one grain at a time when they feed, So that's a mere trifle; now then, let us see, be? "Six shillings a pair-five-four-three-and-six, To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix; Now what will that make ?—fifty chickens, I said. Fifty times three-and-sixpence-I'll ask brother Ned. stop-three-and-sixpence a pair I must "O! but Well, a pair is a couple-now then let us tell 'em ; A couple in fifty will go-(my poor brain!) Why just a score times, and five pair will remain. "Twenty-five pair of fowls-now how tiresome it is That I can't reckon up such money as this! Well there's no use in trying, so let's give a guess— I'll say twenty pounds, and it can't be no less. "Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow, Thirty geese and two turkeys-eight pigs and a sow; Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year, I shall fill both my pockets with guineas 'tis clear." Forgetting her burden, when this she had said, The maid superciliously tossed up her head; When, alas! for her prospects-her milk-pait descended, And so all her schemes for the future were ended. This moral, I think, may be safely attach'd, Reckon not on your chickens before they are hatched. Jefferys Taylor. 132.-SWALLOW AND RED-BREAST. The swallows, at the close of day, When autumn shone with fainter ray, Around the chimney circling flew, To climes, where soon the winter drear Where summer still on some green isle "'Tis true (the red-breast answer'd meek), I fear not the cold winter's wind. I learn to pity those that roam, W. L. Bowles. "Oh! call my brother back to me, The summer comes with flower and bee- "The butterfly is glancing bright Oh! call my brother back. "The flowers run wild-the flowers we sowed Around our garden-tree; Our vine is drooping with its load Oh! call him back to me." "He would not hear my voice, fair child! The face that once like spring-time smil'd "A rose's brief bright life of joy, Thy brother is in heaven!" "And has he left the birds and flowers, And must I call in vain ; And through the long, long summer hours, "And by the brook, and in the glade, Oh! while my brother with me played, Mrs. Hemans. 134.-THE UNREGARDED TOILS OF THE POOR. Alas! what secret tears are shed, He goeth in his daily course, That all day long, lean, pale, and faint, To him they are but as the stones It entereth not his thoughts that they It entereth not his thoughts that God That in His righteous eye, their life Mary Howitt. 135.-FORGET ME NOT! The holidays are ended, Mincepies are out of date; The carriage waits-ascended |